Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
"Drew, my man!" he exclaims, plopping down on the edge of my bed and grabbing the remote from my nightstand. "You won't believe what's on TV right now!"
I raise an eyebrow, a wary feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. "What did you do?"
He grins like the Cheshire cat, waving the remote triumphantly. "Oh, nothing much. Just thought you might want to catch up on the latest news. Trust me, it's a story you won't want to miss."
Before I can protest, he presses a button, and the TV springs to life, blaring the all-too-familiar tune of the sports channel. My eyes widen as I watch the screen, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Breaking news: Drew Colter, star quarterback of the college football team, has found himself in the midst of an unexpected scandal," the news anchor announces dramatically, a photo of me plastered on the screen next to a headline that reads, "Drew's Unplanned Touchdown: Girl from Hometown Claims Pregnancy."
My jaw practically hits the floor.
I sit back down on the bed.
Stand.
Sit.
"What the hell?"
Drake chuckles, clearly enjoying my stunned reaction. "Dude. I’m sorry, man, but this has been all over social media. Duke is the one who saw it first and texted me."
I grab the remote from his hand and mute the TV, staring at the screen in disbelief. "How is this even possible? I haven't heard anything from Tess about being pregnant."
“Because it’s not real, bro. You know how the media circus is.”
That familiar pit settles back into my stomach, and my eyes scan my bedroom for the closest garbage can on the off chance that I need to vomit.
I scramble to grab my phone from the nightstand, fingers fumbling as I dial Tess's number. The phone rings, and I feel a mix of anxiety and confusion swirling inside me.
Voicemail.
Why would she go to the press before even talking to me?
"Are you seeing this, Drake?" I point at the television, my hand shaking. “For real, what the fuck!”
"Oh, I'm definitely seeing it, little bro, by two minutes. And let me tell you, the world is getting yet another eyeful of the Colter family drama."
He isn’t taking this seriously at all.
Not that he takes anything seriously. To my brother, everything is a goddamn joke.
First Duke, when he was between teams and hiding out in the suburbs. Then Dallas, taking money to break up with his teammate’s girlfriend then bribing her to fake date him. Then Drake himself, who pretended to be me on dating apps, although the media never caught wind of that little gem.
I shoot him a glare. "It's not funny, Drake. This is serious."
My head is going to fucking explode. The story on television seems to be on repeat with one reporter then another commenting and giving their opinion on the rumor's validity.
“I didn’t say that it wasn’t, but come on. You know how this goes.” He flops onto the bed next to me, finally pinning a somber expression on his face. "You've always been the golden boy, Mr. Perfect—of course, they’re going to take one whiff of a scandal and run it. This just adds a little spice to your squeaky-clean image."
“I don’t want to add spice to my image.” I shake my head, not amused in the slightest. "You have no idea what's going on, do you?"
My twin rolls his eyes. "Enlighten me, oh scandalous one."
I let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through my hair. "It's Tess, it must be. This is the reason I haven’t heard shit from her in days."
Weeks.
Drake's eyes widen in surprise, his smirk fading. "Wait, what? Are you fucking with me right now?”
I nod, my heart heavy with a mix of emotions. "Yeah, her. I can't believe she went to the press with this before even talking to me."
My voice is a whisper now, my throat constricting.
Fuck, I think I’m going to cry.
Actually cry.
Drake's expression shifts from surprise to genuine concern. "Damn, Drew. That's messed up."
I groan, burying my face in my hands. "Tell me about it."
He pats me on the back, a surprisingly comforting gesture. "Look, bro, I get that this is a total curveball, but you can handle it. You've faced tougher challenges on the field, right?"
Now is not the time for his locker room diatribe, feel-good nonsense. But leave it to Drake to put things into perspective, even if he does it in his own Drake-like way.
"Yeah, you're right. Maybe it wasn’t her that went to the press, eh? Maybe it was…”
I pause.
Grady Donahue, that motherfucking bastard.
He couldn’t have.
He wouldn’t have…
It had to have been him.
He was so pissed off on the phone, but dude, he promised me he would let me make this shit right.
“People get paid a lot of money for stories like this,” my brother says quietly as if reading my thoughts. “You know that. And if she could use the money…”